Strings
by Rendered Reversed
Summary: !NON-MAGIC!FUTURISTIC!AU! Ether Arena, the game where one Master pits their Marionette against another's, but what is it really? Tom Riddle, the reigning European Champion, is about to find out when he's offered to test drive Ether Co.'s newest project, but he never expected to find his beautiful green-eyed Marionette far more enticing than he should be... TMR/HP slash, obviously.
1. Concert I: Overture

**Warnings: **Possible OOC, non-magic!futuristic(?)!fiction!AU, loosely based off of/inspired by Chobits and Angelic Layer (both anime and manga, go read or watch it seriously that stuff is cute), I shouldn't be starting anymore fics but seriously what can you do when your Muse strikes, good!grandfatherly!I-just-want-everyone-to-be-happy!sorta-plotting!Dumbledore, alive!sick!Merope, dead!not-a-wife-abandoning-scum!TomRiddleSr., not-dark!just-a-hard-childhood!mother's-boy-but-still-mature!Tom _  
_

**Pairing:** TMR/HP, (established/light/married) LE/JP

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Harry Potter, obviously. If I did, the series wouldn't be done right now and the pairing would be LV-TMR/HP.

* * *

The figure on the raised platform danced with the other, a violent and graceful depiction of skill and finesse. Stumbling back, the female flinched in pain as one of the male's attacks hit. She had broken their standstill state, and the other was certainly one to take advantage.

Or, well, not her_ opponent_, so to speak, but rather her _master's_.

"**Lightning Dissonance**," came the command, and everyone in the audience knew who the victor was.

The male before her lunged forth, his rapid speed more for just intimidation. When he was positioned in front of her, which took nary but a few seconds, he kicked out, electricity sparking off of his body. She felt the paralysis, unable to do anything as she was kicked mercilessly out of the ring.

The end had come ridiculously fast—but wasn't that to be expected, when you were facing off against _him_—?

"_And for the fifth time this year, we're all present to see Tom Riddle confirm his unquestionable reign as the European Champion of Ether Arena for the last three consecutive years! Going undefeated since his rise, and still continuing that trend, ladies and gentlemen, please give a round of applause for that spectacular performance—_"

As the opponents were lowered from their elevated platform, the man known as Tom Riddle snorted quietly. Undefeated? Well, it wasn't like he'd spend the effort correcting the MC anyways, even if he had the chance to. He glanced up, looking at the Arena where, just moments ago, he had commanded his pretty little Marionette to kick the other out of the ring.

Said being was looking down at him, green eyes not quite lifeless but not human either. Hadrian waved, mouthing "I'll see you later, master," below, and then moved away from the edge.

Tom sighed. Yes, he would see his Hadrian later, but for now, it was time to deal with the ceremonies that always followed his victories… as annoying and a waste of time as they were. Then, perhaps, he would go visit his mother.

Idly, he fiddled with the chrome collar around his neck, only taking it off once an employee quickly waved him towards the main stage's exit. _How much was the prize money again…?_ He'd have to calculate that into the hospital bill, and then scan for the next tournament he'd participate in.

But wasn't the annual English Regionals coming up? _Hmm… choices, choices… _Tom was quite sure it was paying even _more_ this year, so he should probably make a note to enter. Again. Even if that meant seeing _more_ of those irritating journalists from _The Prophet_.

* * *

Four hours, twenty minutes, five glasses of water (Tom wanted something stronger, but he wasn't stupid enough to get tipsy next to the ravenous reporters), three pesty journalists with two desperate photographers, and innumerous amounts of snarky comments under his breath later, Tom was finally given a breather.

It wasn't like the tournament he had entered was _small_, but it certainly wasn't a local-only either. Tom tended to stay out of those; they didn't exactly pay very well. For the few that _did_, he tended to stray from using Hadrian—that would bring him into all kinds of speculation of him getting weak and needing his best Marionette to defeat some nervous rookie—and preferred to use one of his _lesser _Marionettes.

"How did it go?" asked the light voice of Merope Riddle nee Gaunt, smiling as Tom opened the door. He looked no less than perfectly elegant—as he always should—but his mother was always an expert at reading him, no matter how hard he tried to hide something.

"I won," he said nonchalantly, moving over to set down a tray on the bedside table. Once that was done, Tom settled down on a chair next to the bed, one that seemed to have a permanent fixture there. It was _his_ chair, as Merope liked to call it. Tom's chair—for all purposes.

She laughed, the sound pure and calm and Tom could not help but relax to it. His mother was his life—he would protect her, make sure she lived, and by the gods no one would be able to hurt her unless it was over his dead body. "Of course you did," she scolded lightly. "You know what I really meant."

Tom waved it off. "It was no challenge."

Merope sighed. "You absolutely _must_ tell me of your next one! I want to watch it, even if it's only by TV."

To reply to his mother, Tom made a noise of accent at the back of his throat and began to focus on fixing the bed sheets, earning him a click of the tongue and a light smack on the hand.

"Oh, stop that! You fussed enough over it in the morning; won't you tell me instead how Hadrian is doing?"

Tom paused, reaching for the Ether Necklace kept under his shirt. It was the _only_ Necklace he carried on his person, at all times; the rest of his Ether Necklaces containing his other Marionettes were kept locked in a box in his room. "He's fine," Tom said softly, brushing his thumb over the polished lightning bolt symbol. "His performance today was perfect. It seemed like he was eager to fight, as well."

Merope smiled knowingly. "Well, you didn't use him in the last tournament. If I were him, I'd be enthusiastic, too!" She laughed again when her son turned to give her an offended look. "I'm disappointed that I didn't get to see him; you'll use him again, right?"

Tom huffed. "Of course I will. But I don't want him to get bored—if he fights weaklings all the time, his interest will wane—"

"I understand," hummed Merope. "But it's been awhile—"

"Once your treatment is done and you're well again, I'll bring you to the Rings, and you'll see as much of him as you want, okay?" cut in Tom, and the only reason why Merope stayed quiet was because she sensed the shift in mood. Tom squeezed her hand reassuringly.

"Okay," she slowly nodded. But they both knew the chances of her getting better were slim. "Okay."

For the next hour, they spoke in quiet tones, speaking of lighter things until it grew late.

"Oh, by the way, Tom, there was a call today earlier for you," Merope called, just as her son was about to leave to bed.

Tom turned around. "From who?"

"Hm… I think it was from a Lily Potter? Do you know anyone with that name? It doesn't sound familiar to me…"

"No," murmured Tom, "I don't. Did she say what she was calling for?"

"Something about the Winter Tournament coming up… a discussion for your attendance? She said she was also associated with Ether Co., so it must be official," replied Merope. The woman then reached over, grabbing a slip of paper to hand to her son. "Here. This is the address she wished to meet you at."

Tom took it; gently letting Merope put the note between his fingers. Sometimes, his mother was like glass… and he could never tell when until part of her cracked.

She smiled slightly at him and bid him goodnight, leaving him to mull about in his thoughts before bed.

* * *

The Rings were makeshift platforms for Ether Arena; basically, the place normal games were held at. Membership was, of course, needed to get in—but the only proof one needed was an id badge and a flash of one's Ether Necklace, which held the data of your Marionette. Some practiced alone at their own "ring", which was a slightly raised platform (smaller than a tournament's) that was fenced off by a translucent barrier made of magick, the energy source used to fuel the whole of Ether Arena.

Others were versing off against each other, some in friendly battles, others in training, and even more in competitive matches. The Masters, as they were called, stood at opposing ends of the rings, shouting commands to their Marionettes to obey.

Tom passed this all with indifference; he had gotten accustomed to seeing the powerful displays that the Marionettes could exuberate. Custom made to be limited AIs specifically for the game of Ether Arena, they were able to dodge most simple attacks on their own, the more complex forcing them to depend on their Master's intelligence. For the most part, they were incredibly life-like holograms, but the fields they were placed in made them become "solid", or, well, to a point, Tom supposed.

Only Ether Co. knew what their technology really did, and that was a secret that wasn't going to be leaked anytime soon.

The champion made his way to the more secluded Rings (those inside a room with a door) with relative ease, mostly everyone focused on whatever they were doing. Soon enough, he was pulling off Hadrian's Ether Necklace, something he only did before a shower or whenever they were going to "play", and inserting the charm into the small indent on the stand nearby. Following up with that, a collar that was different from the one he had worn at the tournament was pulled from his pocket, and Tom slipped it on like it belonged there.

Perhaps it did. He had gotten it at age fourteen, the very same day he had gotten Hadrian. Now, three years later, it was a comforting weight on his neck that reminded him of just how he had gotten this far, when before he had been just a little boy trying to protect his mother, with eyes of a grown adult.

"Is something bothering you, master?" asked Hadrian, who appeared the instance Tom had clicked the collar into place. Around his neck was what looked to be the exact same accessory, a mirror image. He wore the same outfit as he had during the tournament, a silvery cloak wrapped about his body that, when parted, revealed a light-weight battle robe, a pair of combat boots, and fingerless gloves.

Tom shook his head. He had seen how other Marionettes acted, and of course with the unique AI they spoke and showed a rudimentary understanding of emotions, but something about Hadrian always told him that his Marionette was… more. Understood more. Comprehended more. _Felt_ more. "Nothing's wrong. Shall we begin?"

Hadrian smiled. "Sure."

Through solo training, the pair worked on their mental responses. While the verbal command-and-response system was a large part of Ether Arena, so were the little mental instincts. Command dodges were usually sent through the artificial mental bond established through the collar, but Tom had early on discovered that _more_ could be sent as well. Perhaps not specific attack commands, but combinations of movements, attack signals, and even the more complex feint signals could be achieved between a pair.

As all people were, Marionettes had weaknesses and strengths. No two were alike. Some were more ranged associated, using special powers to snipe or hinder their opponents, while others were close combat. Some specialized in hard, "all-in" type of blows, while others slowly chipped their opponents down, waiting for the time to be able to finish them off. Some were quick, some were slow; some were evasive, some were accurate, but never were any considered "weak" statistically.

It was why many people had more than one Marionette—to combat any weaknesses that their first Marionette had. In tournaments, the opponent would be revealed before the actual fight, meaning that there was time to strategize against a specific person. Having more than one Marionette also allowed for there to be an amount of mystery to be had when trying to counter the opposition before the actual match took place.

In the beginning, and still even now, Tom used this at his fullest advantage. Mind games were what he excelled at—almost like chess. Baiting the opponent, luring them into a state of false-victory, then striking out with something unexpected, or even bringing them to a state of utter despair and loss of hope to ensure them never making a comeback… yes, Tom knew he could be downright vicious.

But he had also learned the other way—the way that, instead of countering your opponent by switching around tactics or making it so that they faced their _own_ counter, he could out-play them. Hadrian had taught him that, that _skill_ was as much a factor in a fight as any stat would be. There had been times in his career as champion that he had been forced to go up against another Master whose Marionette was Hadrian's weakness, but they had still won. Tom still ended as victor, and it was those times where Tom knew and fully trusted in the fact that Hadrian was his best.

How could he not be, when Hadrian was the one who was his first Marionette in the first place?

Come the end of their training practice, Tom pulled out a thermos from his bag nearby. He sipped at the still-hot liquid, relaxing as the tea slid down his throat. Hadrian, knowing from past experience that this would be a full stop for the day, smiled and sat down to watch his Master in peace.

"How has Merope been?" the Marionette asked.

Hadrian's memory and independent actions no longer surprised Tom as much as it had years ago. "Well," replied Tom. "The doctors say she is improving… or at least stable now."

"Oh? Then she's at home?"

"Yes. Confined to the bed, but at home all the same."

Hadrian smiled. "I'm glad. She's a nice woman. Will I be able to see her soon?"

Tom paused. "I am… unsure."

"Then we'll just keep winning until you are," replied Hadrian without missing a beat. "During training, didn't you say that a lady contacted you about a tournament coming up soon? Why not go, at least to find out what the prize will be? Who knows, she might even offer a spot without the price of signing up."

Now, Tom smiled wryly, losing his previously negative air. "Unlikely, but thank you for the sentiment."

"Then you'll go?" persisted Hadrian.

"I will," agreed the champion, "but I must wonder, what exactly has gotten you so insistent?"

The Marionette was silent, ducking his head. "I'm sorry," he murmured after awhile. "I didn't mean to annoy you, master. It's just that… Lily Potter, was it? Her name… it sounds familiar to me."

"Mother said she was an employee at Ether, so if so it shouldn't be all too surprising that it's been written into your memory."

"Still…" Hadrian trailed off. "Well, I guess it's fine. I don't think she means any harm."

Tom shook his head amusedly. "And how would you know that? Just a second ago you were acting like you didn't know her personally." When all his Marionette did was shrug, Tom decided it was a lost cause to continue the conversation. Hadrian probably wouldn't even remember mentioning Lily Potter later, anyways. "It's time for lunch."

Hadrian, familiar to the farewell, smiled and stood. "I'll see you later, master."

Tom disconnected, tucking the collar into his bag and returning Hadrian's Ether Necklace to its spot around his neck. Perhaps he would buy ingredients for dinner along the way, now that Merope was home.

* * *

James Potter, one of the treasured employees of Ether Co., slammed his hands onto the desk before him. The man sitting across was unperturbed, probably used to his employee's actions. They were close, having known each other for a long time, and James usually looked up to the man with a healthy amount of respect and reverence, but now…

Albus Dumbledore sighed. "And what did Lily say, my boy?"

"She says she'll reserve her opinion until she's met the kid," mumbled James, out of steam now that he had physically taken out his anger on something. "But I still wonder if it's a good idea. Tom Riddle isn't exactly my idea of a good, kind hearted soul. I mean, I'm one of the recorders, Albus! I've _seen_ how ruthless his strategies can be, and my mind tells me that someone who can do those things can't possibly be—"

"Now, now," calmed Albus, "He doesn't have to be an innately good person to be kind, and a kind person isn't necessarily exempt from doing malicious acts. I, for one, trust Lily. She _is _a brilliant judge of character, after all."

"You know I trust her too, Albus! She's my wife, after all, and the love of my life. It's hard _not_ to trust her, but who I _don't_ trust is that Riddle!"

"You forget, my boy, that Harry has taken part in the decision as well," Albus pointed out, looking at his employee over his glasses with his fingers laced together. "And I believe, if there is anything that I can say with conviction about Harry from those many, many years that I've known him, it is that he, too is a good judge of character, who is loyal to a fault, and, for the most part, is so stubborn that he'd rather prove himself wrong than shy away from the path he has chosen and take back his words."

James grimaced, knowing the man he thought of as a grandfather was right. "The way you put it—"

"Under certain situations, of course!" merrily cried the elder. "I'm sure Harry knows right from wrong, good from bad, and everything in between. He's a very bright boy, that child of yours! Very smart, very brave; and I believe a show of faith in both your wife and your son can be allowed, James. It is, after all, his wish that we are on our way to granting; his and many others' in this world."

Under the brunt of Albus' kind (though no less true, and no less chiding) words, James finally sighed and collapsed into the chair behind him. He didn't remember when he stood up during his previous ranting, but the fact of the matter was that he did and now he was completely exhausted, no longer running on pure adrenaline.

"…But why Riddle?!" he whined, and received a chuckle for his effort.

"I'm sure you can ask Harry that, once we succeed with the treatment. I must say, we _are_ daringly close to a breakthrough…"

* * *

**So yeah I shouldn't be writing another fic, but seriously, like my warning says, what the hell can you do, right? Right. Err, as all of my fics seem to be, this is sort of strange and a bit unique and sorta not, but yeah like everything else, expect to see some outside influence (The Guild for The Game, as well as those MMORPGs, letter fics for Blood Stained and Lettered, sort of Loveless and adventure-esque games and stories for Camaraderie, you know...).**

**As in my warnings, this will most likely be influenced by Chobits and Angelic Layer, though finally I get something where I can make people scream attacks, because everyone knows making up the attack name is half the fun (or most of it). BUT DON'T WORRY, MY FIGHT SCENES WILL NOT BE PURELY PEOPLE SCREAMING AT OTHERS. That wouldn't be fun.**

**And that LV/HP fic I talked about at some point in one of my stories (I think it was Camaraderie?), well, that's almost done but not quite, because I'm too lazy to work on the ending. And it's a oneshot. And sort of strange. And that TMR/HP fic I talked about way back in The Game? It's like, 23k words and sort of frozen there, not even halfway done.**

**Yeah I suck. I know. Tell me your other thoughts in a review...?**

**Sincerely,**

**R.R.**


	2. Concert II: Presto

**Warnings: **Possible OOC, non-magic!futuristic(?)!fiction!AU, loosely based off of/inspired by Chobits and Angelic Layer (both anime and manga, go read or watch it seriously that stuff is cute), I shouldn't be starting anymore fics but seriously what can you do when your Muse strikes, good!grandfatherly!I-just-want-everyone-to-be-happy!sorta-plotting!Dumbledore, alive!sick!Merope, dead!not-a-wife-abandoning-scum!TomRiddleSr., not-dark!just-a-hard-childhood!mother's-boy-but-still-mature!Tom _  
_

**Pairing:** TMR/HP, (established/light/married) LE/JP

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Harry Potter, obviously. If I did, the series wouldn't be done right now and the pairing would be LV-TMR/HP.

* * *

The light sound of a piano filled the Riddle house, an airy and energetic piece to please his mother. Tom sat at the upright piano, fingers flying across the keys as he sat, back straight, and calmly played a song long ago learned and memorized. Shortly before his father had died, he had "quit", and the tutor that used to come every week to teach him disappeared.

But he knew his mother loved music; loved the sound of a piano being played in the next room instead of on an electronic device, so he had kept playing despite not actively learning new pieces. Having eight years of experience had made it hard to quit in the beginning, so he secretly tread on, if only under the excuse of his mother's clear enjoyment and pleasure. Tom could almost see her in his mind's eye, sitting in bed with pillows behind her back to make her comfortable, eyes closed in bliss, small smile on her face as she enjoyed her son's playing.

He finished the piece off before rising and gently shutting the piano's lid. Today would be his meeting with Lily Potter, and he refused to be late—not only would it look bad, but Tom Riddle was _never_ late to _anything_. Manners and punctuality—that was what he had been taught. Of course, that had been when his father was alive, when they could afford such things as professional tutors on every single subject.

Obviously, things changed. Tom never really held any emotional attachments to his father, though his mother certainly did, and his death was, to be morbidly honest, an inconvenience that brought hated change. Merope's illness got worse with the emotional distress, the hospital bills rose, and the comfortable life they had lead had vanished.

But now, things were different too. The tournament money from Ether Arena racked in more money than Tom could earn for a mediocre job as a seventeen-going-on-eighteen year old, even though his high-class homeschool education gave him excellent credentials. He was simply too young, without enough experience for a professional, full-time job.

And then came along that fateful day where he had wandered into _that _store, met Hadrian, and climbed his way to the top…

The suddenly louder-than-normal ticking of the clock caused Tom to glance up. Ah, now was not the time to dwell in the past. He had a meeting to get to. Grabbing his wallet, a jacket, and the keys, Tom exited the modest Riddle house, making sure to lock the door behind him. Luckily, the place was not far from his home; it was a café in a nearby shopping district, so he should be able to get there in, perhaps, anywhere from ten to twenty minutes.

* * *

Upon entering, he was met with a greeting from one of the workers at the café. She was a young, petite thing, slightly on the short side but it was clear that she was cute in a way. Blushing, she directed Tom to a table by the window, near the back of the shop. He inclined his head in thanks, but gave her no more attention than necessary as he made his way over to the table.

A woman was already sitting there, a cup of tea slightly to the side of a small plate of half-eaten cake. She had fiery bright red hair, standing out among the many patrons of the store. As she turned to look at him, Tom was met with familiar green eyes, only they were upon the completely wrong face. He showed none of his surprise, instead sliding into the opposing seat with calm indifference.

"Hello," she greeted with a smile. "I'm Lily Potter. I expect you'd be Tom Riddle…?"

He nodded. "I'm surprised you don't know, considering that you work for Ether."

Lily grinned. "Oh! Well, yes, but the Arena's really more of James' side—wait! I didn't mean it like that!" she cried as she saw his dubious look. "James is my husband. I work for a… different branch of Ether, I guess you could say. No less important, but certainly not as well known."

"And did you call me here for this… husband of yours, or will I not be privy to know why someone who mostly doesn't have a thing to do with the Arena call the champion to meet her at a café to discuss things of a nature I have not been told of?" Tom cut to the chase, finding the woman not _offensive_, but rather a source of an unreasonable irritation within him. She was too _familiar_, even though he had never met her before. Too _alike_ to someone, perhaps. It simply got on his nerves.

She smiled sheepishly. "Well, hmm… this is going to be hard to explain outright, so perhaps I should start from the beginning?"

Tom waved a hand. "Whatever you must."

Lily took a sip of her tea before continuing. "The part of Ether I work for, you see, isn't a complete separation from the Arena. Rather, it's sort of a side—doesn't really have to do anything with the players of the game, but more about the mechanics. Recently we've come to a new advancement in our work, and though we're almost one hundred percent sure with all of our tests that it's working just fine, we still would like to run some more tests before it's used, whether that's in the Arena or not."

"You want me to test it," Tom stated unflinchingly.

"Well, sort of? I haven't even told you what it was yet! You see, if it's ever used for the Arena, or perhaps not even the Arena—maybe just… oh, I don't know how to explain it! You see, it has a lot to do with the Marionettes and less of the game itself," explained Lily, somewhat struggling with the task.

Now, this perked Tom's interest. "The Marionettes?"

"Yes. We're calling it Project Astral, the goal of which is to bring Marionettes, who originally resided only in the Arena, _outside_. Of course, if we succeed, this could lead to _astronomical_ results!" Lily whispered with a grin, as if she were telling a great secret. Perhaps it was.

"And what role do I play in this?"

"I can't tell you everything," apologized the woman, "as if you end up not working with us, well, that'd count as a leak, but I can fill you in on the more general bits if you like."

"I believe I asked," drawled Tom.

Lily inclined her head. "I suppose you did. Well, now we're getting into what I told your mother over the phone. You know of the Winter Tournament coming up? Yes, well we've chosen some promising Masters to tell them exactly what you're being told. For this project to work, there are a few psychological things that need to be confirmed. If you can go through the Tournament, win or lose, and show us that you have perfect synchrony with your Marionette, then you're on board, good to go."

"And how exactly are you going to be able to _prove_ this?" asked Tom with a raised brow.

"A couple of factors, added together really. You either are, or you aren't. The thing is? We could actually look over the recordings of your previous tournaments to test for it, but to give everyone a fair chance and a more accurate test, we'll be choosing upcoming Tournaments. Seeing as you have this reputation for not joining any of the lesser competitions, there was a unanimous decision that the Winter Tournament would be _your _test—"

"Wait a second, I haven't even agreed to this," interrupted Tom. "Frankly, you're being quite vague, and while I understand the need to be, there _is _a limit—it feels almost as if you're telling me nothing at all."

Lily didn't seem offended at all. In fact, she shrugged, and said, "you caught me. You're just as keen as they say—and certainly right on this matter."

"Will you tell me clearly what exactly is your goal, or will I be leaving now?"

"Don't be hasty!" Lily exclaimed as she saw him move to get up. "I'll tell you. Look, as I said we're testing for synchrony. It's not really something I can explain—more of an instinct combined with real, live, in the moment plays. Sometimes, Masters simply _have_ something with a certain Marionette that _clicks_, and we've chosen specific people for specific reasons—that I cannot say, due to the nature of those specifics—that could possibly have that synchrony, but we're not sure. That's why we need to test. It could be dangerous if it's not there, so that's why we're doing it."

Tom's mind raced over their conversation, picking out facts and clues and putting it all together into a startling, though most likely, conclusion. "My mother isn't exactly in the best of health, so if you're implying what I think you're implying, and if _that_ is a possible danger, I'm afraid I'll have to decline," declared Tom abruptly.

"_Please_, wait," Lily insisted. "That's not what I meant. I'm sure that things will be all good and well. We've tested this before—but now, for those same specific reasons I mentioned just a bit earlier, we need more tests. It's not enough to know that it's _safe_ and working under controlled conditions for us—to make this a real breakthrough, we need a _real_ test."

"And what, exactly, am I getting out of this?"

"There are some things I can't say," replied Lily, calmer now that Tom didn't look as if he were going to get up and leave so quickly now. "But you're intelligent. You've already proven that. As to what you _think_ I'm implying, in possible but-you-didn't-hear-it-from-me relations to your gain, I'm sure you can infer some."

Tom paused only for a second in thought before he opened his mouth again to speak. "Then say I pass this test of yours. Say I pass, with flying colors, and your experiment is being tested with my help. Considering what I think you're implying, _both_ now and then, wouldn't this be causing troubles for _me?_ Would not the gain be outweighed by the obstacles that come with it?"

Lily smiled satisfactorily. "_Now_ we're talking. I have no shame in saying this project is important to me, and Ether, and another group as well. Whether you want to take advantage of that or not, is really not under my power to say, or control. _However_, I must comment, you certainly are wise for your age, though I think you're forgetting things under your quest to prove that my deal, that I'm now officially offering, is not to our mutual gain."

Tom paused, mulling over her words as the lack of need for quick, sharp answers set in. It wasn't often that someone met him head on in a conversation like this, and seeing that the matter had the possibility to be quite serious, he took any time that he could graciously and without complaint. He knew Lily Potter was waiting patiently, though whether to see his reaction, hear his thoughts, or simply for an answer was anyone's guess.

"Say I refuse," he said slowly, "what will happen then?"

Lily, who had taken a few bites of her cake in the duration of silence, took a sip of tea to hide a slight purse of her lips. It seemed to a somewhat amused Tom that he had asked the wrong first question, but now it was _her_ turn to be blunt.

"If you're asking whether or not we'll still test you, and if you succeed we'll hunt you down until you agree to help us, that's not going to happen. Ether will respect your decision; you have that as my word and I can even draw up a contract if you want. Just because you're young doesn't mean I won't take you, your privacy, and your rights seriously."

Tom nodded his acceptance, and returned to his thoughts. The woman had said something that had caught his interest—forgetting things? Like what? Like—he paused. Slowly, he raised a hand to his chest and gripped the charm beneath his shirt, watching as a wide smile spread across Lily's face.

Hadrian. The thought of being able to talk to Hadrian, whenever, wherever, was certainly appealing. Sometimes, he had even gone to the Rings to simply relax in the calm he seemed to radiate, or even for the small sense of normalcy that Hadrian brought him. With his Marionette, Tom didn't need to be the perfect son, or the support of the family of two, or the strong, untouchable, threatening figure. He could admit that he had worries, though not necessarily _consequential_ worries, and Hadrian would nod and understand.

Because somehow, the artificial intelligence that was Hadrian sometimes didn't seem so artificial at all. He still remembered, with startling clarity, how that very first day had gone. Their very first meeting. Where he _knew_ that Hadrian was different than all of the other Marionettes he had seen fighting on the screens he passed down the streets, in the stores, even occasionally at his own home. When Hadrian had smiled, looking every bit the two years older than him, but not judging and not programmed, but—

"The Marionette that you choose for the Winter Tournament, if you agree, will be the one we test synchrony for. You must use him or her the entire competition, and if you succeed, he or she will be the one chosen to go through the experiment," said Lily quietly.

Would the gain outweigh the effort? The consequences? The problems?

Tom knew his decision instantly. If it was _Hadrian…_

"I want double the prize money if I win," he said frankly, "otherwise you won't have my agreement."

Lily grinned. "I'll talk to my superiors, and you'll get your confirmation—if there _is_ one—the day of the tournament, right before the first round."

They both knew Tom would get what he wanted.

The champion made to leave, however, a thought made him pause. He turned around to face the woman again, who was, with great delight, finishing off her cake.

"You said you didn't work for the same branch as the Arena… but perchance, have you possibly met or had something to do with the creation of the Marionette Hadrian?"

Now it was Lily's time to pause, and she licked her lips of the frosting before smiling, half sad and half happy and pleased. "Hadrian, you say?"

Tom nodded.

She looked down at her plate, then took up the napkin beside her to wipe her mouth. Then, finishing off her tea, she turned directly to lock eyes with the champion and for a second, the latter could've sworn he'd get a straight answer.

But some things were not meant to be.

"Did you know," she said suddenly, "that you remind me a lot of my son? You're seventeen, aren't you? He'd be two years older than you then. He was smart, so very smart, and brave and kind, and would do anything for the people he cared about. Actually he looked a lot like you, except for the fact that his hair took after his father's—being a mess, that is."

Tom couldn't stop himself. "Was?"

She pursed her lips, shaking her head to herself. "N… no, I shouldn't say 'was'. He's… he's ill, I suppose you could say. Sometimes, I want to see him and talk to him while he's awake, but I know if I do, that I'd end up a crying mess and completely destroy his image of the strong, willful, confident mother. I want him to know a lot of things, but I don't think I'm strong enough to be able to tell him."

He found that he could relate, instantly thinking of his dear mother, bedridden but still alive and, for the most part, going to be well. But the time when she wasn't, the time when everything was dark and uncertain, he knew and remembered. Yes, Tom could relate.

"My son is very beautiful," Lily said with a smile. "You almost gave me a heart attack when you walked through that door. Of course, close up I can see the differences, and of course your personalities are different, but I can see him in you, for some reason. About the same height, close age, and the same powerful glance… I don't know where he got it from, but one look from him and it could stop you right in your tracks!"

She paused, as if willing herself to find the courage to speak more. "I think one day I'd like to tell him everything, of all the pains and all of my worries, but that day won't come until he gets better, I think. And by then, I hope he'll understand without worrying unduly, or panicking, or being that kind, sweet son of mine and looking at me like he's _trying_. On the other hand, I want _him_ to talk to _me,_ because I've been slowly finding that I don't know all too much about him, for being my son. Part of me wants him to lean on me, but another wants me to push him far enough away so I can admire him standing on his own two feet without ever being shoved down."

Tom said nothing in reply.

Lily seemed to understand this, too. Perhaps her son was why she had been able to see through part of him. A mother's intuition had no bounds. "You're quite the charmer yourself, you know. I wonder how it would be if you two met. Who would enchant who?"

With the air now lighter, Tom left without another word. Only when he was halfway home did he realize he had never gotten the answer to his question… dratted woman. Speaking in riddles, and even outright changing the subject! The nerve of her! No wonder he had been so irritated in the beginning—his instincts had been _telling _him, _screaming _at him that she wasn't some naïve, easy adult to trick and manipulate to his pleasing.

No matter. Home it was.

* * *

**Urg so much dialogue. Anyone discovered my not-so-discreet plot that has probably been revealed in this chapter yet? And all the small twists and turns? They're pretty obvious, tbh. **

**And yayy trying things new with a not-against-romance-or-at-least-a-whatever-relationship-with-Harry!Tom, though The Game has one, I mean starting out as-whatever, it's different, y'know? I'm going to go straight for romance and no satisfying bffs for life, which Camaraderie and The Game do not have. Of course, even this will take awhile... so let's hope I get to it under 20 chapters, okay guys? -sweatdrop-**

**Oh Lily, causing your own company to lose money just to create problems for them... and showing your slightly vicious personality while you're at it. I dunno why James thinks Tom's unique in that category. His wife can be a total BAMF if she wants to! Planning and plotting and being a total Dumbledore and what not... haha.**

**Harry will be more inclusive by, I think the fifth chapter? Idk when I want things to happen yet :| please bear with me. BUT OH GOD I WANT FLUFF SO BAD. Tyvm for listening.**

**Sincerely,**

**R.R.**


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